Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

by Haruki Murakami

Alienation and loneliness became a cable that stretched hundreds of miles long, pulled to the breaking point by a gigantic winch.

It’s just that, for me, what’s worthwhile in life has become a burden, something I can’t shoulder anymore. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it. So, like a dying cat, I’ve crawled into a quiet, dark place, silently waiting for my time to come.

He imagined how wonderful it would be to travel abroad with her, just the two of them.

You can hide memories, but you can’t erase the history that produced them.

A basically empty vessel has become empty once again. Who can you complain to about that? People come to him, discover how empty he is, and leave.

The human heart is like a night bird. Silently waiting for something, and when the time comes, it flies straight toward it.